


catharsis

by mintakas



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Angst, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, ive never written straight porn and have no idea what to tag this as, just a few thousand words of these two being sad and horny ig, will i ever write anything other than sad sex?? probably not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24304075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintakas/pseuds/mintakas
Summary: Akane will be the death of Kogami.For one night only, Kogami doesn't seem to mind all that much.
Relationships: Kougami Shinya/Tsunemori Akane
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> listen im gonna apologise for this rn because i wrote this in 2013 (SEVEN years ago r u kidding me) and its been sitting in my drafts ever since 
> 
> its been edited a bit and i thought i'd just put it up since some new pp stuff came out but i will say this is so old that its based on season 1 lol so if ur looking for content based on season 3/the film then u will not find it here

Akane is hovering.

She’s stood in Kogami’s doorway, hands cradling a disposable coffee cup, her finger nails scraping idly against the grooves in the cardboard sleeve.  


She wouldn’t usually hover, but the warmth spreading through her finger tips and the way in which the light from his computer screen softens the planes of his face is like an anchor for a few moments. She is tethered to the spot in which she stands, watching him - and it isn't until Kogami clears his throat that she realises she may have been watching a second too long. 

“Sorry, Mr. Kogami.” She looks down, clears her throat. Kogami had been more aloof than usual; in every downward sweep of his lashes and moments of silence, she could see him: Makishima. She had begun to wonder exactly who it was that Kogami saw when he looked in the mirror, but as she had told him before, _“you are not him.”_ He never says anything to that, but Akane had learned to read those silences, and sometimes what she heard made her uneasy.

“I brought you coffee.” She walks toward him, the heels of her ugly loafers tapping obnoxiously off of the linoleum floor. She relinquishes the cardboard cup and her finger tips mourn the loss. Kogami smiles, (or at least, some semblance of a smile) as he leans back in his chair and takes a thoughtful sip. It’s past eleven so he could ask what brings her to his quarters at this late hour, especially when neither of them are on duty which really makes this a _personal_ call. Instead, he says nothing, but the whir of the computer and soft tapping of Kogami’s index finger against the desktop is enough to punctuate their silence. 

“Thank you, inspector,” he says, as he places the cup on the desktop. There are coffee cup rings on almost every surface at the MWPSB, and Akane smiles fondly at the memory of Gino once threatening to implement a coffee ban if they couldn't learn to wipe away the mug stains. (This was ineffective, of course, and no such ban took place, if only because Gino soon realised he was a key offender.) 

“So you leave your door open, now?” she asks. Already knows why he does it but hopes he’ll tell her anyway. She’s been walking past for months now, some days she stops, sometimes she carries on walking. She’s convinced he leaves the door open on the days he knows she’s on duty. 

Kogami’s jaw clenches. “It gets hot in here.” She can see he makes a conscious effort not to look at her as he says it, suddenly enamoured with whatever he has on his screen, leaning in a little despite having perfect eyesight. It’s almost comical, but Akane doesn’t laugh.  


“You look tired, Mr. Kogami,” she says, and when Kogami wishes she would do something other than stand there awkwardly, he didn’t mean the sudden rearrangement of the different documents he has strewn carelessly across the coffee table come desktop. She barely looks at them as she arranges them into a pile, and that in itself feels… wrong. Akane did very little – if nothing – without purpose. He had learned that when Akane has busy hands it usually means she’s on edge about something, and right now it makes Kogami’s skin crawl. “Maybe you should get some sleep,” she adds, quieter.

It was an odd suggestion, that he go to sleep, seeing as she had gone to the bother of visiting him at all. Kogami wonders what it is she’s avoiding, and then swallows the guilt that follows the assumption she should have any reason to be avoiding something. “And here you are providing me with caffeine,” he says belatedly, hoping the hesitation goes unnoticed. 

Akane finally goes and pushes the door shut, seems to have decided that whatever she was even there for was _not_ intended for unsuspecting (or otherwise) passers by. She flops down into the space next to him, body angled in his direction. Kogami is painfully aware of the fact that there isn’t anything to say – that the only thing they have to talk about is the one thing that neither of them particularly _want_ to talk about, and so Kogami absently rubs the back of his neck as he wonders why she was even here at all. 

She sits there in silence, lacing her fingers together in her lap, and Kogami tries not to wince at the tension. The atmosphere feels different, somehow – she sits next to him like a loaded gun, he knows she hasn’t come here this evening to talk over case files. He wonders if he should afford her the kindness of excusing himself, saving her the trouble of pretending to have something useful to say (because _he_ certainly doesn’t), and he is thankful for the distraction provided by the whir of the computer speeding up a little. He uses the opportunity to sigh, ready to mumble something or other about needing to call it night. It's as though Akane knows what he's doing, though, and all of a sudden she places a tentative hand over his. The contact is strange, and Kogami resists the urge to slide his hand out from under hers – in part because he doesn’t want to upset her but mostly because he can’t remember the last time someone held his hand. He is sad and pathetic, and she must feel sorry for him.

“Mr. Kogami.”

He realises he has been staring at the place where their hands touch, and at the sound of her voice he blinks slowly. 

A second hand comes to rest against his wrist. Akane is unrelenting, Kogami thinks. A steadfast oak tree beaten by the hurricane, her roots twisted deep underground, keeping her constant, unyielding. She is an immovable force met with devastating winds, and yet here she remains. Steady. A lighthouse in the storm, guiding him home. But he is lost at sea, and he is convinced that she is more than he deserves.

“Inspector,” he warns.

“Akane,” she corrects.

He eventually does it – gently slides his hand out from where hers lay on top, her touch as light as a feather and all the while as heavy as lead. Akane swallows. Kogami watches her tuck her hand back into her lap, her gaze finding purchase on the dusty floor. And then he remembers watching Akane was a luxury not afforded to him, that she was his Inspector and he, an Enforcer – and that was the fact of it, the foundations on which their relationship were built. An officer and her subordinate.

“Mr Kogami -” 

_“Inspector_ ,” comes the second warning, heart thrumming in his chest, mind in overdrive as Akane prepares for the conversation they’d been avoiding for months now. “Don’t.” 

Her gaze softens even further somehow, long lashes sweeping across her pink cheeks as she smiles at the floor. It’s like being shot every time she moves. 

“How long will we keep doing this?” she whispers, looking back up at him, and Kogami drags a hand down his face, tired, feels as though his back might break under the weight of all he wants to say. 

“You were right,” he sighs. “It is late.” He rolls his shoulders, closes his laptop, and is about to stand when Akane makes a wild grab for his arm.

The words are tumbling past her lips before he can protest. “I came here to say that the man you were isn’t gone. He may be changed, and Sybil might have judged you already, but...” she smiles at him, but her eyes are sad. Kogami swallows hard, feels his heart hammering against his ribcage. “I haven’t given up, Mr. Kogami. And I don’t think you should, either. I don’t think you should give up.”

She looks at him with such blind faith that it makes Kogami feel like he’s lying to her just by being alive.

“What do you think there could be that I haven’t already given up on?”

 _Me_ , Akane wants to say, but instead all that she manages is this resolute sigh that Kogami can’t quite read. Gives him the same look that she had given him right before she shot him with the Dominator. This time, her attack is quite different. She leans forward, snakes an unsteady hand around the back of his neck, uses the leverage to pull him toward her. She’s uncoordinated, and her mouth even slips against his, their teeth knocking together with a _clink_. For a long moment that feels like an eternity and much too quick all at once – Kogami is aware only of the sound of their lips moving together, of the way her hand grips his shoulder, fingertips digging into the flesh there as though she needed to make sure he were real, that this was happening. Akane tastes like coffee and strawberry lip balm. Kogami turns his cheek, feels Akane’s lips brush against his face. The balm lingers on his mouth. 

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, even. Seconds pass and she begins to look like a statue, and Kogami realises she’s waiting for him to say something.

“Why did you do that?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. He adjusts the collar of his shirt. The sound of Akane breathing is too much to bear.

Her answer is instant. Rehearsed. “To remind you not to get too lost, Mr Kogami. And that I haven’t given up on you.” She presses down the creases in her skirt. “You are a good man with good intentions. I don’t think a crime coefficient or a dark Hue changes that.” And then, under her breath, “I don’t think Makishima changes that.” She stands to leave, and Kogami is _almost_ unselfish enough to let her go. But in a split second, he has made his decision; a decision that has him standing up and curling his hand around her forearm, stopping her in her tracks. 

He wants to be gentle, and a part of him wonders if he remembers how to be. His hands are not soft like hers, they are rough and probably unpleasant to the touch, and he hesitates for a second. Seeking permission. (Giving her a way out).

Akane doesn’t hesitate, though. She’s on her tiptoes, leaning up with parted lips, inviting him in. She’s too willing, and Kogami hates himself a little as he kisses her, and a little more when he picks her up, gently places her to sit on the countertop.

She’s already parting her legs, fumbling for the buttons on his shirt. Soon, her hands are like smoke moving up his chest, gentle finger tips plotting the broad expanse of his collarbones, down to the dip of his sternum. It’s a strange juxtaposition; the firmness with which she holds a weapon, to the tenderness in which she touches him. He tangles his fingers into the hair at her nape, and she responds in kind, tilting her head back to offer the slender curve of her neck.

“This is incredibly selfish of me,” he mumbles against her skin. Akane won’t humour his self deprecating, not now, not while she gathers handfuls of his shirt, and then his hair – as though she couldn’t gather enough, as though she was trying to see how much of his body that she could contain. How much of him she could protect. She turns her attention to the journey made by the slope of his shoulder down to the curve of his bicep, fingers sewing forgiveness into each scar she finds. Sewing _herself_ into every scar she finds.

Akane is unbuttoning her own shirt now. She’s a little more confident with her own garments, deft movements having her free of the light cotton material in no time.

Underneath it, she is a map; pale skin dusted in light freckles, a body he could spend hours navigating, that she is offering him right here, right now – and Kogami is self indulgent enough to take it. His attention is divided by the sight of her humble breasts; small and hidden though they are by an equally humble, navy bra, modest and so entirely Akane that Kogami tries to burn the image into his memory, wants not to forget a single detail as he promises himself it’s _just this once_. The gap between her skin and the material looks enough to experimentally dip his tongue into, and the sound she makes has him digging the heels of his hands even harder into her hips.

It’s too much. Kogami needs to wipe the look off her face, and so his mouth instead finds purchase along the valley of her throat. Her skin tastes sweet. She’s warm and beautiful and impatient, the way she’s making quick work of his belt buckle, too eager, and Kogami pulls back.

“Inspector – we don’t have to –,”

“Mr. Kogami.” She pushes the hair away from his forehead, kisses him with bruising force. “Please.” Akane guides his hands to her thighs, her skirt hitched up far enough that he can see the lining of her underwear. Kogami can’t help but contemplate the ridiculousness of this whole thing, to have his Inspector – to have Akane, like this, legs wrapped around his waist like a vice, pleading for his hands on her body. The misplaced conviction that she puts in him makes him feel sick, but he pushes the rising bile to the back of his throat as he hooks his fingers into her underwear, tugs them down her legs in one, swift movement. 

Although Kogami can feel the uncomfortable stretch of his trousers, it is Akane’s arousal that has his attention. He dips a finger inside her experimentally, marvels at the wetness he finds there. His inspector hums against him, arches her back and loops her arms around his neck, cradles the back of his head like he were a child. He wishes she wouldn’t touch him like this was normal.

Two fingers later and Akane’s body is trembling against him, and he thinks she might be close. He shudders each time _Mr. Kogami_ drips like honey from between her swollen lips, and even more when she finally purrs _Shinya_ , hot and breathless against his face. But he doesn’t want her to come like this, at least wants her to feel the weight of him inside her enough so that she might fill her cup, might not want for him this way again. So that they both could take away some form of twisted satisfaction, enough to soften the fact that it should never have happened. He pushes his trousers down far enough to free himself, squeezes his eyes shut as he slides into her, hears her gasp at the pressure. He doesn’t move, not an inch. His head is reeling.

Akane, as always, is endlessly perceptive. 

“Is it too much, Mr. Kogami?”

She holds him in a hug, strokes his hair, and Kogami wants to hate her for all her compassion. She’s too… she’s too involved, Kogami decides, as he places his hands on her hips. He’d fuck her till they both came, and he would deal with the awkwardness that is sure to come, and then he would go back to being nothing more than her Enforcer, lowly and beneath her and certainly undeserving of this. Of the heat, the contact, and especially the way she looks as he finally begins to drive his hips forward.

Akane pushes her entire body into him, still trying to have more, her hands grabbing helplessly at his back. Kogami is sure she will leave nail marks in her wake, a reminder of where she has been, and where she will not be again. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind surfaces the ludacris thought to tell her he loves her. He pushes it away, of course, concentrates instead on how she feels like everything – the taste on his tongue, the hands in his hair, the white hot pressure around his cock.

She asks him how it feels, and he falters, hands grabbing the sides of the desk to steady himself. She seizes the opportunity, locking her ankles around his back, using the leverage to rock herself with a gentle pace that has him seeing stars. He wants to tell her it feels like home, this wet little space between her legs. Made for him even though he’s too big for it, her thighs stretching to accommodate him. Instead nods sadly against her shoulder, before placing his hands back on her hips and fucking her until he could only see the whites of her eyes.

Kogami is not particularly vocal during sex, never has been – but Akane makes up for it in gentle encouragements whispered into the shell of his ear, soft moans of approval that let him know he’s getting it right.

Somewhere along the line, Kogami is lost to the sensation of Akane clenching around him, his name tumbling past her lips as she throws her head back. It is wet – wet and warm and all too much. Kogami comes inside her, and it’s the most intimate thing he can imagine, the closest he’s felt to anyone in years.

He feels her peppering kisses along his shoulder, lips wet and greedy. She wants all of him, every piece, even knowing who he was – and Kogami’s head is spinning once more. 

His legs threaten to give way, his knees trembling as he grips the side of the desktop. Akane guides his head to rest on her shoulder; and Kogami, he obliges. It is far too affectionate, of course. If she were to ask if it were too much, he would say yes. 

He’s going soft inside her. At some point it gets uncomfortable, and sticky – Kogami pulls out and hastily tucks himself back inside his trousers, the silence growing awkward between them as Akane slides off the countertop, tugs her own underwear back up her legs.

She can feel his come trickling down her thigh. It’s a little obscene, but there’s nothing immediately on hand to wipe it with, and so she decides to pretend she hasn’t noticed. It’s when she’s smoothing down her skirt that Kogami pulls a tissue from his jacket pocket. It’s a napkin leftover from his lunch so it’s little and thin but does the job anyway, soaking up the evidence that Kogami had just been inside her, that they had finally breached the professional boundaries of their relationship. There’s a red blush creeping up her throat, Kogami winces – he doesn’t want her to feel ashamed of anything. Wants her to know it’s _his_ fault. 

He wants to say something, to assure her that it doesn’t matter, that they could just forget it about it, except it’s a lie and the words refuse be spoken. The deed is done, and Kogami is waiting for her to break the silence, hoping that she’ll rescue the situation the way that she always does, but she just stares at the floor, the wreckage in which they stood unsalvageable even to her.

He’s buttoning up his shirt when she suddenly reaches out to still his hands, her fingers closing around his wrists. 

Kogami looks at her, the same way he always has; as though she is the only thing in the entire world worth looking at. 

She displays her protest by bringing his hand to her mouth, kissing his knuckles (it stings – the broken skin from the punching bag sometimes the only reminder he’s still alive), but her lips are sweet and he can still taste her in his mouth, feel her nails at his back. He shudders. Hates himself for what he’s about to say. 

“This can never happen again, Inspector. You and I both know what the consequences of this would be. I can’t be the reason for you losing everything.” 

Akane lets go of his hand, gives him this sad look that he understands perfectly. Wipes furiously at the little pools threatening to spill over her lids. She doesn’t want to cry, there’s plenty of time for that when she is alone, starting blankly at the ceiling of her bedroom at three in the morning, questioning everything she’s ever believed to be fair. 

Her loafers squeak as she brings her heels together, stands as straight as she can. 

“One night,” she declares, rather obstinately, and Kogami blinks. 

She steps forward, until she’s looking up at him. “One night. Hold me just one night. Tomorrow, we’ll pretend it never happened.”

She’s so – it’s _so_ tempting and Kogami wants it more than he’s ever wanted anything. He feels his hand curling around her waist, moving on auto-pilot, pulling her towards him till he closes the gap between their bodies. Tries so hard not to kiss her but there is this _gnawing_ in his stomach, his skin feels like it might catch fire if he doesn’t touch her, and he sighs into her mouth as she leans up.

He kisses her slowly; draws it out, makes it last.

“One night,” he confirms as she finally sinks back onto the balls of her feet, and they are both exhausted as he leads her into his bedroom, unsure whether this whole thing was a just a crushing reality check or if they were doing themselves a favour by putting it all to bed, once and for all. Doubts if it even matters since neither make it hurt any less. 

He can’t help it; he fucks her again that night. Initially hoped he would fall asleep the second his head hit the pillow, but instead lays there awake for a whole two hours just staring at her, listening to her breathe. Documenting everything. It’s not until she stirs sometime around 2 in the morning that she realises he’s still awake. 

Neither of them say a single thing, but before they knew it he was buried inside her, losing his mind as Akane moans into a pillow. He challenges himself to make her come as many times as he could, in as many ways as he could, (since he would never do it again) and relishes the way her body jolts every time she climaxes. He uses his fingers, his tongue, and at some point even lets her get herself off by rutting against his leg. Sucks and laps at her breasts until there are tears slipping down her cheeks, her own hand flying between her legs as she guides herself through her own orgasm. Her resilience was astonishing; every time he thinks she might collapse from exhaustion, she’s mindlessly grabbing for him, never sated. Never enough. At some point she insists on climbing on top, and riding him so well he thinks he could die, and as the thought surfaces that he’ll never get this again, he’s sure he might. Akane is unrelenting; loves him with everything, wants to make sure he knows it. Licks the sweat from his neck just to see how it tastes.

She’s leaving half moons on his chest as she rocks on top of him, every slide in and out so delicious Kogami loses himself a little more, hands gripping her hips so hard he’s sure she’ll bruise. He comes even harder than before, closely followed by Akane, except she’s so loud that he has to throw his hand against her mouth. Stifle the scream he so badly wants to hear. 

Finally, hours later, they both succumb to the call of sleep, their bodies aching and eyelids heavy. She’s curled up with her head on his chest, and Kogami dreams of her that night. Dreams of silly things like cooking dinner, the brush of lips against perfectly pliant bodies, Akane’s sun kissed skin against the backdrop of a late summer picnic.

*

Akane wakes with a start. It’s morning – or at least, she guesses it is, there’s not a lot of light; the one window covered by blackout curtains. She wonders, briefly, if Kogami had been trying to keep the light out, or the dark in.

Kogami isn’t there. She kicks her legs over the side of the bed, wiggles her toes against the cold floor. Tries to ground herself. Remembers, with a flush up her neck, all the places Kogami had been last night. Runs her fingers along her mouth, closes her eyes against the memory, gathering handfuls of the bedsheets. Recalls the way he’d looked as he let go, like he was finally permitting himself to _enjoy_ something.

“Mr. Kogami?” she calls, stepping out of the bedroom. The hall is narrow and small, her voice would carry to the living area, but if he’s there he doesn’t respond. When she nudges the door open, he’s sleeping on the couch, long legs hanging over the end. She realises, with a pang of disappointment, that at some point he’d left her to sleep alone. 

She brews coffee, because that’s all she can think to do. Pours two mugs, and then sits across from him on the countertop, watches him sleep. Watches him so long that eventually the coffee goes cold, and she realises she hasn’t had one sip. 

Eventually, he stirs, dragging a hand down his face as he finally comes to. Sees her staring at him and sighs through his nose, sitting up and rubbing at the back of his neck. Akane wonders if it’s because the sofa had left him with aches and pains or if it’s because he’s gearing up for a conversation he doesn’t want to have. 

Sometimes, like now, Akane thinks she can see his shoulders visibly slump under the weight of all the guilt he carried. 

“I made you coffee,” is all she can think to say.

Kogami groans, groggy with sleep. Asks her what time it is.

Akane chews on her lip, hesitates. Doesn’t answer his question, instead pushes the coffee mug away, the ceramic bottom scraping against the countertop. It sets Kogami’s teeth on edge. “I – you weren’t there when I woke up.”

Akane doesn’t beat around the bush. Offers Kogami no reprieve. He looks up at the ceiling, looks anywhere but Akane. Doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s bracing herself for a bullet wound. “Well, don’t think it was easy for me to leave.” His answer is clipped, it doesn’t sound like it’s her he’s talking to.

“Then why did you?” she demands. Meets him with the same candour. 

_This_ was the conversation they didn’t want to have. “You know why, Inspector. This,” he gestures between them. “This can’t be a thing. We can’t do this to ourselves. You could lose your job.” He drags his palm down his face, is sure he can smell her on his shirt. Thinks, mournfully, that he’ll have to change the bedsheets at some point, that he won’t be able to smell her shampoo on his pillows. 

Akane huffs indignantly. “And you _still_ won’t call me by my first name.” She slides from the countertop, plonks the mug of coffee in front of him hard enough that a little spills over the edge and onto the table. “I _said_ I made you coffee.”

An echo of the night before, Kogami curls a hand around her wrist, stops her in her tracks as she begins to stalk away. 

“Please – stop talking about damn coffee.”

She stares down at him where he sits, and Kogami would think she looked all sweet like this but fortunately, isn’t an idiot – he’s seen the things this woman can get done with that expression. All narrowed eyes and hot cheeks, anger bubbling beneath the surface. But the longer Akane looks, the more the anger subsides, eventually cooling to a simmer enough that she sighs. Defeated. 

“This was enough,” Kogami lies. 

Akane knows there is no use in arguing, that they were fighting a battle they could only lose. She says nothing else, walks back into the bedroom where her shoes lay kicked off by the door. Feels as though she’s giving up as she slides them on, wishing her feet would carry her anywhere but away from him.

“You’re a bad liar, Mr. Kogami,” she tells him when she sees him stood by the front door. Akane just about manages a half smile, that isn’t so much a smile as it is the corner of her mouth twitching. “So do we just go on and pretend like nothing happened? You know Karanomori can sniff this kind of stuff out.”

Kogami fingers the packet of cigarettes in his pocket as he pictures that conversation. The techie would have an absolute field day if she knew the two of them had finally overstepped the mark of their ‘professional relationship’. “Leave Karanomori to me.”

Akane nods at the floor, tucks a tendril of hair behind her ear. Realises it must look a sight right now, there had been no mirrors in the bedroom, and because of the length of her hair she always wakes up with it stuck in all directions. 

It dawns on Akane there’s really nothing left to say, and so she looks at him, worries her bottom lip with her teeth, hand hesitating over the door handle. “I’ve… I’ve never had to do this before,” she admits. 

Kogami laughs a dry laugh that sounds almost like he’s berating himself. “I also don’t make a habit of sleeping with the Inspectors.”

Akane looks as though she might cry when she says, “I don’t know how to pretend that I’m not completely enamoured with you.”

For a second it doesn’t look like she’s breathing, and Kogami’s not sure if he is, either – it’s like the two of them are caught in this moment forever, this daunting, endless limbo where each of them is waiting for the other one to say something. _Anything_. 

It’s not _those words_ , of course, but it’s good enough. They repeat themselves in Kogami’s head a thousand times over, because it’s the closest either of them have gotten to admitting it, and for a moment he is absolutely lost in the fact that Akane Tsunemori is in love with him. As though the reality of the past nine hours had finally caught up, overwhelming. The next thing he knows is that he’s pinned her up against the wall behind her, a knee lodged between her legs.

“I can’t say I commend your choice in men,” he tells her, dizzy from the sheer injustice of it all.

“One for the road, then?” she murmurs, and Kogami nods, leaning down to catch her mouth in a kiss, slower than before, purposeful. Draws it out for as long as he can, makes sure to remember how she tastes. 

Akane melts against him, body trapped by his knee and the cold concrete behind her, tries to resist the urge to grind down against his thigh. Wishes they could have met in another time. (Secretly hopes they still might).

They stay like that for a long, long time, kissing goodbye even though they’ll see each other at work tomorrow, but never in this capacity again – and when the time comes to break for breath, Akane looks at the floor in a way that seems a lot like a dejected resignation. “Us – not seeing each other,” she begins, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand where it cups her cheek. “Better for everyone else, but not you and I.” It was the sad truth – there were rules against this sort of thing. Ethics. Relationships, sexual and otherwise, were a privilege Kogami was stripped of the day he looked into the abyss, and saw it staring back. The day he lost his status as an Inspector and became nothing more than their _hunting dog_. He had no business falling in love with Akane, none whatsoever. 

  
  
  
  


And yet. And _yet_.


End file.
